


ACOSF Missing POVs

by foreverinfiction



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOSF SPOILERS, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29549844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverinfiction/pseuds/foreverinfiction
Summary: MAJOR ACOSF SPOILERS!!! Seriously, don't even open if you haven't finished the entire book.Rewriting of scenes from characters that we missed their POV on.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 9
Kudos: 85





	ACOSF Missing POVs

**Author's Note:**

> Nyx's birth scene, mostly from Feyre's and Rhysand's POV. The bold type is verbatim from the book.

Tension filled her body as Feyre sat in the family room. She couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, the feeling of hopelessness, of something terrible lurking on the horizon. Nesta could handle herself, she knew that. In her heart, she knew that. She knew that Nesta would survive the Blood Rite, just as Feyre herself had survived Under the Mountain. She had others to fight for, others fighting to keep her safe. But just because Feyre knew that Nesta would survive didn’t stop the worry from racing through her veins. 

That, and the fact that Cassian and Azriel were in danger as well. She felt useless here. Amren had stopped lecturing her and Rhys about their bargain to go together and instead had retreated to her apartment, claiming that she was going to do some research into breaking their bargain. 

Rhys stood at the window, and Feyre knew he was as restless as she was, as unwilling to sit on the sidelines as she was. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, shifted his weight from one foot to another. 

_Do you need a distraction or time to brood?_ She asked him. 

She saw his shoulders relax just a fraction. _I’m not sure_ , he answered her. _I don’t like this. I feel as if we have forced our friends into danger._

She sighed, understanding him. Neither of them regretted this child, nor did they regret the bargain they had made with one another. It did nothing to assuage the guilt that they both felt, placing their lives, the life of their son above their friends’ safety. It was a question she had asked herself frequently. Should they have waited until the peace was more stable? Should they have taken time to wait before trying for a child, given themselves time to reconsider, to seek the opinions of others? How differently would their choices be, if only they had known this war sat on the horizon?

Rhys came to sit by her. Elain glanced up briefly from where she sat in the armchair by the fire as he crossed the room. Feyre wasn’t sure how to comfort Elain. She had brushed off any attempt Feyre had made in the last hour, so Feyre had let her be, let her process her emotions in her own space. 

Rhys settled onto the sofa next to her, pulling her closer to him. She adjusted, shifting her hips so that she could rest her head on his shoulder. He looked so pale, her mate. It unsettled her. They’d shared many conversations, all to the same end. Neither of them had found anything that could save her life, the life of their child, or by the extension of their bargain, Rhys’ life. They still had two months, but neither of them had anything new to say. 

“I love you,” Rhys whispered, his voice hoarse. 

Feyre looked up at him. “I love you,” she answered. “Always, Rhys.”

Pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, Feyre brushed a single tear from his cheek. “If I lose you—” he started. 

Feyre shushed him. “We’re not saying goodbyes,” she said firmly. “We still have a few months before he’s due, and we’ll find something.”

Rhys nodded and leaned into her. “The Rite will be finished by noon,” he said to her, but raised his voice slightly so that Elain could hear, so that he could offer her a little comfort. Feyre watched her sister closely, but she didn’t react. 

_She’s worried about Azriel_ , Feyre said to her mate, who raised his brow in question in response. _She’s worried about Nesta, too_ , she explained. _But she is worried about Azriel more._

_I thought you weren’t playing matchmaker_ , Rhys said, the ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. 

_I don’t need to do anything,_ she said, shoving him gently with her shoulder. _They’re both trying so hard to ignore it, but there’s something there. Az looks for her whenever something happens, and she is always the first to greet him when he comes home._

_Az can’t act on anything_ , Rhys said. _It would be an insult to Lucien_. 

Feyre shrugged, dropping the topic. She didn’t want to talk about heavy things or the politics they had been playing. She wanted something easy. She ran a hand idly over her swollen stomach and felt her son kick in response. She looked down and smiled at him. 

_Give me your hand,_ she said to Rhys. He did and she placed his hand over where she had just felt the kick, low in her stomach, her babe still not turning yet. They waited a moment and then they both felt it. A solid kick, right against the center of his palm. Rhys gave a breathy laugh, and another kick followed. 

Then another. 

And after a moment of pause and another hum of laughter from Rhys, another one came. 

It was on the fifth kick that Mor walked into the room. 

And on the fifth kick, Feyre felt the sharp, stabbing pain low in her belly. She gasped and flinched. Rhys looked at her, worry flashing down the bond, fear in his eyes. 

Feyre took a deep breath, but the dread overflowed, a great wave crashing over her. “Something isn’t right,” she gasped out. 

And then she felt it, the cramping that she usually felt at her cycle, but so much more intense. She cried out in pain, curling reflexively around her belly, around her unborn son, still too young, too small. She could hear Rhys and Mor talking, could feel Elain’s hand on her shoulder, but she couldn’t focus on any of it. She forced herself to breathe as the pain seemed to crest and fade away. By the time it ended and she was brought back to the room around her, Madja was kneeling in front of her. 

“We need to get you to a bed,” Madja said. Feyre nodded and Rhys’ arms were around her, lifting her up and carrying her to the first room down the hall, a guest bedroom that they kept away from the others, in case they hosted someone who wanted distance. Rhys set her down gently on the bed, kneeling down next to her, holding her hand in both of his. “Tell me what happened,” Madja ordered. 

“He was kicking,” Feyre started. “And I felt a sharp pain, and then the cramping.”

Madja’s hands were on her belly, pressing against her skin. “Are you still feeling the cramping?”

She was careful to pick up the word Feyre had used. Feyre shook her head and Madja frowned. 

They stayed silent as Madja continued to examine her. Mor came to stand by Rhys, giving Feyre a small smile and placing her hand on Rhys’ shoulder. Elain hesitated by the door. 

Feyre reached her hand out to her sister, but as she extended her arm, she felt another wave of cramping, her muscles constricting so tightly that she felt a wave of fear coming from her son. “I’m sorry,” she said through gritted teeth, pressing a comforting hand to her stomach. Then she started sobbing. _I’m sorry,_ she thought, pushing the message not to her mate, but to her son. _I’m trying. I’m sorry. Please stay with me._

Rhys’s grip on her hand was almost crushing. _We’re here with you,_ Rhys added, tears shining on his face. _I’m so sorry, Feyre darling_. 

Feyre held his hand as the pain crested again and faded. Madja’s hands rested on her lower belly. “You’re in labor,” Madja said. “The cramping you’re feeling are contractions. I can try to slow them down, try to turn him so he is in a better position, but there isn’t much I can do to stop them. The labor is putting too much strain on your body already. You’re starting to bleed.”

Feyre let her words sink in. “He’s too small,” she gasped out. “What happened? We were fine.”

“I don’t know,” Madja said honestly. “Sometimes these things just happen. We can give it a little time, to see if the contractions stop on their own.”

Feyre nodded. _He could still be okay_ , she said to Rhys desperately, but one look at her mate told her that he didn’t share her hope. 

But he swallowed that feeling of dread, of hopelessness, and held her hand tighter. _We made it through Under the Mountain. We survived the war with Hybern. We’ll give him our strength. I’ll give him my strength, until my last breath._

Feyre nodded and looked back to Madja. “Give us every advantage you can,” she ordered, her voice steady, calm, the voice of a High Lady. “We’ve faced worse odds.”

The healer nodded and set to work. 

* * *

Two grueling hours passed. The contractions only grew more intense, bringing the babe lower into her pelvis. Madja’s careful work had turned him so that he at least was oriented in the safest position, but Feyre’s bleeding continued, coating the insides of her thighs and soaking the sheet beneath her. No one in the room spoke about it. Everyone knew the odds they were facing, knew the likely outcome. Drawing attention to the fact that they were losing this battle did no good. Mor stood by Rhys the entire time, only leaving his side to assist Madja as she requested and returning as soon as each task was complete. Elain held Feyre’s other hand, speaking soothingly to her sister with each wave of pain, each contraction. Rhys watched his mate carefully, savoring every breath she took, although each one seemed to get weaker, her face grew paler and paler with each contraction that passed. 

They all looked up when Azriel entered the room, trailed closely by Amren, and Rhys could smell the blood on him from the doorway. He watched his brother’s gaze fall on Feyre, then glancing to Rhys. He watched the terror on Az’s face. 

“What happened?” Feyre said, breaking the silence first. 

Rhys gave a small laugh. _High Lady, even now_ , he purred. 

Feyre rolled her eyes at him, and Rhys leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. 

“Briallyn took Cassian,” Az said. “With that damn crown. There was nothing—” Az choked. He stood there, silently, forcing back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Rhys frowned and pressed gently into Az’s mind. 

_I’m not losing all of you on the same fucking day_ , Az said. _You and Feyre and Cassian. It’s too-_ he cut himself off, hauling his shields back up. He cleared his throat. “She’s going to use him against Nesta. My shadows said that she hid weapons throughout the forest. She’s been playing with the Blood Rite and it just ended.”

Mor’s grasp on Rhy’s shoulder tightened. “Madja,” she said quietly. “How long—” she cut off, unable to finish her sentence. 

“Another hour, possibly,” Madja replied, her voice just as quiet. Another hour until the babe would be born. Another hour until Feyre bled out, until Rhys was dragged through Death’s gate with his mate and their son. No one said what was echoing in the room. 

“Go,” Rhys said, an order. “Both of you. Go help them.” They both hesitated, Mor’s hand fluttering on Rhys’ shoulder. “There’s nothing to be done here. Cassian and Nesta need your help. Go to them.” 

Mor nodded slowly, moving to stand by Az. She leveled her gaze at both Rhys and Feyre, both so pale. “I know your our High Lord and Lady,” she started. “But Mother help me, if you die before I return, I will drag you both back here and kick your sorry asses.”

Feyre laughed, too weak, too breathy. “We’ll fight till our last breath,” she promised. “Go help my sister.”

Then they were gone, and Elain stood from the bed, moving to stand by the window. Feyre watched her, heartbreak closing in around her, but before she could say anything, another wave of pain crashed over her, nearly sending her into unconsciousness. 

No one said anything as the minutes pressed on, Death crawling closer and closer to Feyre and Rhys and Nyx. There was nothing to be done. Death was coming and it could not be stopped, not this time. 

* * *

Cassian and Nesta entered the room, close on Mor and Azriel’s heels. Feyre took a shuddering breath, relief flooding through her, and Rhy’s matching relief met hers down the bond. They were all alright. His brothers, her sisters. 

Feyre felt her strength fading. Too much blood, she had lost far too much blood to recover from this. She barely registered Madja speaking with Mor, until she heard Nesta’s voice cut through. 

“ **Cutting it out?** ” Feyre heard Nesta’s sharp voice. She felt Rhys’ annoyance flicker down their bond, but Feyre pushed back on him, letting her relief at Nesta’s safety wash over him again. 

“ **An incision along her abdomen, even one carefully made, is an enormous risk. It’s never been successful. And even with Feyre’s healing abilities, the blood loss has weakened her—** ”

Feyre cut her off, instinct coursing through her body, to protect her child, to give him every chance she could at survival. “ **Do it** ,” she said through gritted teeth.

“ **Feyre** ,” Rhys said, his voice full of pain and warning. 

Madja pressed her hand firmly onto Feyre’s knee, on a pressure point that she had been using to draw Feyre’s attention as the blood loss made her drift in and out of consciousness. “ **The babe likely won’t survive. It’s too small yet. We risk both of you**.”

Cassian’s voice was quiet. “ **All of you** ,” he murmured, looking at Rhys. 

Feyre didn’t let anything crush this surge of energy coursing through her. She needed her son to survive, needed to give him the best chance she could. He would grow up so loved, surrounded by the family that had taken her in, by her sisters who may have finally healed. “ **_Do it_** **,”** she said again firmly. She looked to Rhys, pushing all of her love down the bond to him, the love she held for her mate, the love for their son. And she saw the understanding pass through him. “ **We have to** ,” she said, her voice hoarse but strong. 

Rhys nodded, grief washing through him, but he held his mate's hand ever tighter. Then Madja was speaking to him. “ **Go into her mind and take the pain away** ,” she ordered. 

Rhys cursed himself for not thinking to do so earlier, but he did as she said, reaching into Feyre’s mind, her shields nonexistent, baring the entirety of her soul to him. 

“ **Feyre darling** ,” he started. 

“ **No goodbyes** ,” she cut him off, her voice breathless. “ **No goodbyes, Rhys**.” 

_I love you_ , she whispered to him. 

He sobbed, holding her gaze. _I love you_ , he answered, and then he took away all of her pain. 

Feyre closed her eyes. 

Madja’s knife cut into Feyre’s lower abdomen, the scent of her blood surging through the room. 

And then Rhys saw his son, being pulled out of his mate’s body. No cry filled the room, and Rhys watched Nyx’s lifeless and limp body being passed to Mor, being wrapped in the blankets she held. 

Rhys sobbed, looking back to Feyre, reaching down the bond to her. 

But it wasn’t there.

_Feyre!_ he yelled desperately. He watched her chest rise, the rattle of death in her lungs. 

Rhys lunged for her.

* * *

Feyre felt the last of her bond with Rhys fading, felt herself, as if from a distance, taking her final breath. She felt darkness envelop her, pulling her away from her family. 

And then she felt the power wash over her, silver and cold. 

Nesta’s power. 

Then her sister’s voice found her in the void. “— **loved me, and fought for me. I love you, Feyre. I love you, Feyre**.”

Feyre fought the darkness, fought to hold onto the silver light that forced the darkness back. 

“ **I give it back,** ” she heard Nesta say, and the darkness surged again, but Nesta forced it back. “ **I give it all back.** ”

Feyre felt her body shifting, as it had two years ago, when she had been brought back from the brink of death, her body shifting from human to fae. Now, she felt the pain low in her abdomen, felt the cracking and molding of new bone. 

And then the magic, Nesta’s magic, broke out in brilliant gleaming silver, surrounding Feyre entirely. 

She blinked. Her mind back in the room with her family. She looked at Rhys and then moved her gaze to Nesta, her sister, who sat on the bed. “ **I love you, too** ,” Feyre said, and Nesta threw herself at her. Feyre held her tightly, her strength returned. Nesta’s squeeze was rib-crushing, but Feyre didn’t care. Until a cry cut through the room. 

_Nyx_ , Feyre thought, reaching out for her son, both with her arms and her mind. Nesta slid off of the bed, leaving room for Rhys to move closer, but all of Feyre’s attention was on her son. Mor sobbed, bringing the babe over to the bed and handing him over to Feyre. She felt Rhys’ arm wrap around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him as they looked down at their son, now healthy and full-term, with dark hair covering his head. 

He let out another cry, and Feyre’s body shuddered with relief. She heard Madja’s voice instructing her to let him feed, so she did. Instinct guided her arms as she brought Nyx to her breast, heavy now and full of milk. Nyx latched greedily, and Feyre smiled down at him. She broke her gaze as she felt Rhys’ arm retreat from her shoulders. He moved off the bed, towards Nesta. 

Everyone in the room held their breath, Feyre included, as Rhys knelt before her sister. “Thank you,” he said, his voice cracking. 

And to her surprise, Nesta knelt in front of Rhys, pulling his face up to look at her before throwing her arms around him. _I’m sorry_ , Rhys said to Nesta, speaking to her silently. _I’m sorry—_

Nesta shook her head, still holding onto Rhys tightly. _You protected her from me when I couldn’t stop myself from hurting her. We both made mistakes. We both hurt others, but I want to move forward._

Rhys nodded, letting her go. _Cassian said you gave up the Rite_. 

Nesta shook her head. _Go be with my sister,_ she said. _We can speak about this later_. 

Rhys rose, returning to Feyre’s side, where he gazed at his son, at the miracle that Nesta had bargained for them. 

The room was a flurry of activity as Nyx finished nursing. Someone magicked the sheets clean, and Madja cleaned up Feyre’s body, washing away the blood. When Feyre finally pulled Nyx away from her breast, handing him to Rhys to hold. Feyre smiled at her mate as he took their son into his arms. Mor and Cassian started arguing over who would get to hold their nephew first, but Feyre only looked to Nesta. 

“Do you want to hold him?” she asked. 

Nesta stiffened. “I don’t—” she forced herself to breathe, to lower the sharp defenses that were already rising to cover up her insecurity. She took another breath. “I don’t know how,” she admitted, letting her gaze fall. 

She felt Cassian’s hand on the small of her back. “I can show you,” he said, gently, and she nodded. Rhys walked over to them, and Cassian guided her arms to support the small babe’s head, and Nesta cradled the infant in her arms. She smiled down at him. The room was silent, watching her, but she ignored them as she looked to her sister. “Did you pick a name for him?”

Feyre shared a glance with Rhys before he spoke up. “Nyx,” Rhys said, answering her. He held her gaze. “We named him Nyx.”

Nesta looked back to the infant in her arms. “Hello, Nyx,” she said.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> This whole scene had me crying, but I wanted a Feyre POV of it. I'll probably do some other scene rewrites, so let me know if there are any that you think would be good. Let me know what you thought of this one. Thanks for reading!


End file.
